Strategist Extraordinaire
by undercloakkept
Summary: After pub crawling with the lads, Ron Weasley comes home a little too late and a lot too pissed for his own good. Surely he has a plan to escape his wife's wrath...
1. C'MERE WIFE

**Strategist Extraordinaire**

**Chapter One: C'Mere Wife**

The sound of Ron Apparating into the kitchen made Harry's head throb. He thought Ron's bright orange jumper just might make his eyes begin to bleed. Harry squinted up at him woozily.

"Morning, Harry. You look dreadful. Really off colour," Ron observed, handing over a bottle of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Patented Hangover Potion. He took a liberal swig from his own bottle.

"_Oh, well spotted_," Harry mimicked Hermione grumpily, emptying the potion in one long slug. He belched queasily and rubbed his temples. "I have a troll-sized hangover."

Ron yawned widely and grimaced as he ran his tongue around his mouth. "I like to think I can hold my Ogden's better than most, but it feels like Crookshanks slept in my mouth. Some night though, yeah? Pub crawling's right efficient now that Neville's living above the Leaky. I wonder what made Hannah angrier...how hammered Neville got, or that he kept yelling 'drinks on the house'? I bet she's serving his head on a platter for breakfast." Ron scrubbed at the shadow of stubble on his jaw. "George sure was pissed. Hope he made it through all right." Ron and Harry's eyes met in understanding.

"Hannah made him stay. Said it was far too dangerous for him to go home in that condition. Not that he couldn't have _got_ there safely enough," Harry said ominously. They both shuddered in mock dread. "Angelina's right scary pregnant. She's got so…_physical_."

Ron snorted before looking at Harry curiously. "What's wrong?"

Harry was gingerly rolling his head around on his shoulders and contorting his upper body, trying unsuccessfully to remove an especially persistent crick from his neck. "Slept in the damn bath," he admitted sheepishly.

Ron hooted. "Had a good row, did you? Ginny still in a strop? Blimey, wives lack a certain sense of humour about lads' nights." Ron glanced at his watch and shrugged. "Potion's working a bit. We've an hour to recuperate, then we're off to see the Cannons. Who'd have believed they'd make it to the finals? And that we'd wangle such good tickets!"

Harry winced. He'd been dreading this moment all morning. He just hoped some of the Deafening Spell he'd cast on himself last night was still working. "Sorry, mate. I can't go," he mumbled, trying hard not to flinch in anticipation.

"Can't go," Ron repeated slowly before his voice skipped an octave. "Can't _go_? _What d'you mean you can't go?_" Ron ticked off the essentials on his fingers. "Cannons. Finals. Tickets. Pulse. _Hello?_"

Harry's muffled response was unintelligible.

"What's that?"

"I said '_Ginny's put a House-Arrest hex on me_,' all right? I can't Apparate. The Floo's useless. If I even get close to a door or window, I'll get a shock straight to the bollocks."

"You're bloody _kidding_ me!" Ron said in disbelief before bursting into laughter at Harry's expense.

"Oh sod off. I happen to know Hermione went off like an erumpent's horn last time you came home pissed. She shot daggers at me all week and threatened my life if I 'led you astray' again. _As if_." Harry rolled his eyes and the kitchen took another sickly spin. "Shouldn't've done that," he realized belatedly. He laid his forehead on the table and directed his question into the wood. "How'd you talk her into letting you go?"

"Merlin, you're a right pathetic git. I mean seriously, Harry, we've got to raise the level of your _game_. I'll have you know not only did I not get yelled at, Hermione never said one word! And she'll be shagging my _arse_ off for the rest of the weekend, so don't bother coming 'round." He couldn't resist another chance to take the mickey. "If you make parole, that is."

Harry was looking at him in clear disbelief. "It's _true_!" Ron laughed, twirling a chair around and settling down with his arms slung across its back. "So let's have it, then. What'd you do when you got home last night? Didn't you have any sort of strategy at all?"

Harry felt a bit put out, having actually given considerable forethought to his drunken homecoming. "Well," he managed a small grin, "I Apparated down the street instead of straight to the house."

"Uh-huh uh-huh." Ron nodded encouragingly.

"Charmed the door off its hinges and snuck in quiet as a mouse. Undressed in the kitchen."

"I _see_," said Ron, slowing stroking his chin.

Harry ignored the raised eyebrow, the subtle mocking shift in Ron's tone. "Used a Scouring Charm on myself, mouth included. On account of the Firewhisky, you know?"

Ron's chin was now on his hand, his expression impregnable. Harry pressed on.

"Threw on the Invisibility Cloak. Cast a portable Shield Charm as additional precaution. Thinking ahead, right?" Harry looked at Ron hopefully.

"_And?_"

"Tiptoed into the bedroom. In the pitch dark, mind you. Peeled back the covers and then…"

"Oh, let me _guess_," Ron said wryly.

Harry sighed. "And then all hell broke loose. At first I thought I'd set off a Caterwauling Charm, but no. All Gin. Your lovely sister was shrieking so loudly I had to cast a Deafening Spell on myself just to protect my eardrums. If I hadn't had that Shield Charm up, I'd still be coughing up slugs."

Ron was shaking his head, chuckling heartily. "I'm sorry to say it, Harry, but she had you bang to rights. You went about the thing all wrong. No wonder you're such shite at chess." Ron's voice filled with smug self-satisfaction as he warmed to his topic.

"Now _I__,_ on the other hand, Apparated right to the little love nest singing 'Weasley is our King' at the top of my lungs. Made a point to knock over the kitchen table and turned on every light I could get my wand on. Used a touch of the ol'_ Sonorus_ to be sure she heard me fake a puke, see? Then I thundered up the stairs yelling '_C'mere Wife! I'm horny as hell! Get on all fours and let's shag!_'"

"Did not," said Harry, dumbfounded.

"Did _so_," grinned Ron. "Stripped naked, bounced into bed, stole her pillow and slept like a baby. She pretended to be asleep through the whole damn show, even faked a little snore!" Ron was brimming with satisfaction. "Tell me Gin wouldn't have done the same."

Harry snorted at the thought, and his face turned an unhealthy shade of green as a slug slid past his lips and down his chin.

"Ugggh! Those are the worst," Ron cringed. "I hope that's the last of them because that is _definitely_ not going to be cool in public. Now where was I? Yeah yeah. So, I snuck out this morning before _Hermajesty_ woke up, picked out some flowers on the way over here and wrote her a note fairly oozing with Weasley charm. Pig's too small for floral post, so I had to borrow Errol again. He should be getting there right about now if he didn't have a coronary."

Harry was, as Ron had hoped, gobsmacked. "That's bloody _brilliant_!" he exclaimed in utter awe. "Your Chocolate Frog card doesn't lie, Ron. You really _are_ a 'Strategist Extraordinaire.'"

Ron smiled broadly. It was the first time Harry had called him that without taking the mickey. _Ron Weasley -_ _Strategist Extraordinaire, _he thought proudly, picturing the caption in his head. _Merlin, I love that card_.

Ron rocked on his heels, brushing off his hands in mid-air. "So there you have it. Mischief managed. Nothing left but for the Cannons to win the finals, and I'm off to another Granger-Weasley weekend shag-a-thon. Piece of cake. Precisely accordingly to plan." Ron was beaming, looking at Harry expectantly.

Harry looked less than convinced. "Yeah, well, I'll be certain to try that out next time," he said dubiously, picking up a slug and moving to the door with the intention of throwing it outside. There was a sizzling sound just before Harry grabbed his crotch and bellowed "Oi! Damn it, Ginny!" He turned to Ron, who was doubled up laughing. "Oh just shut it! I've a pretty good idea you've still got yours coming to you. Just help me figure out how to reverse this hex, would you?"

"Stings, doesn't it? My mum invented that one. Six sons and all. I'll just pop my head over to The Burrow and see what sort of mood she's in."

"Make it quick. We need to be off before Ginny gets back from your place."


	2. MY KINGDOM FOR A VASE

**Strategist Extraordinaire**

**Chapter Two: My Kingdom for a Vase**

Ginny and Luna were having tea at Hermione's, as was their regular custom whenever Hermione and Ron had a row. Hermione was vividly describing Ron's drunken antics of the previous evening.

"And by that time, it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. As if I'd give him the satisfaction. I nearly lost it when he stole my pillow, but I covered it up by pretending to snore!"

"I can't wait for Harry to work up the nerve to try that one. Won't he be in for a rude awakening." This was not a question. All three girls were laughing when they heard a loud crash against the kitchen window.

"That'll be Errol," Ginny observed wryly.

"Really, Gin," Hermione huffed in mock disgust. "Your brother's such a predictable prat." She shook her head as she rose and opened the window, peering down into the shrubbery where Errol flopped about dazedly. When he regained his senses, she gave the ancient owl a biscuit and fondly scratched behind his ears before lifting a long package in through the window.

"Oooooh," Luna cooed, recognizing the distinctive box tied with an orange taffeta ribbon. "I adore flowers by post. Rolf sent me dandelions just last week."

"Maybe it's more grass clippings. Honestly, what was he thinking?"

"_Harrumph_!" harrumphed Hermione. The grass had actually been her favorite delivery so far. It had led to an indoor picnic of sorts, but no need for Ginny to know that.

"Best to get it over with." Ginny grinned with anticipation. "_Locomotor Lid_." With a flick of her wand, the ribbon fell in a lustrous orange puddle, and the lid of the box lifted up and away. The unmistakable fragrance of lilacs filled the room.

Although Hermione had anticipated the flowers, Ron had still managed to surprise her with his choice. Exquisite. Wild. Sensual. Ron. Hermione gave the box a little shove and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's going to take more than flowers."

Luna lifted a bloom-laden stem and waved it gently at Hermione. "You'll never stay angry, you know? Resistance is futile."

"Yes, I do know, Luna. What makes it insufferable is that Ron knows it too." She turned her attention to Ginny. "I hope you gave Harry hell."

"Oh trust me, I did." Ginny snickered. "Gave him quite the earful. I suspect he's still spitting out a slug or two, but it could have been a lot worse if he hadn't had the wits to put up a Shield Charm. Must have been a portable one, too. Tricky spellwork, that, especially when drunk."

"Harry has very good survival skills."

"Too true, Luna. Anyway, I really let him have it and topped the whole thing off by casting a house-arrest hex on him."

"Ginny, you didn't!" Hermione laughed. "I wish I could have seen his face."

"Yeah, well, it would have been one with the bedroom door slammed in it. And get this, when I went to the loo this morning, there he was, the savior of the wizarding world, asleep in the bath with nothing but a few slugs to keep him company. I couldn't even wee."

"You wee in the bath?" Luna asked in wonderment.

"No, dear," Ginny said patiently. Luna was far from gormless, but she sometimes required certain...clarification. "I just went in to use the loo, and I saw that Harry was asleep in the bath, and I didn't want to, you know, in front of him, in case he woke up, and…oh whatever." Ginny waved her hand dismissively before quickly having second thoughts. "Don't you dare repeat that, Luna, or it might end up on the front page of the tabloids. I do not wee in the bath. I do not wee on Harry. No one wees on The Boy Who Lived. Are we clear?"

Luna blinked once and shook her head slightly. "Clear? I don't think so, dear. Hermione, do Ginny and I look clear to you?" She gazed dreamily at the wall. "That would make a very clever tee, though. _'No One Wees On The Boy Who Lived.' _Sums things up nicely, really." Luna's eyes twinkled mischievously. "I'll have a word with George."

"Oh Luna, stop it!" Hermione giggled as Ginny choked on her tea. "Although it would be an improvement on 'I met Harry Potter -- I Thought He'd Be Taller'. Borgin and Burkes is apparently selling loads. Ron said some arse even asked Harry to sign one." Hermione's nose wrinkled with disdain. "I mean, really."

"Harry bloody hates it when I sleep in that shirt."

"Ginny, you _don't_!"

"Come off it! Like you've never slept in one of those Strategist Extraordinaire monstrosities."

"Well that's completely off the point," Hermione said primly. "That one's a compliment. And he likes it. Never leaves it on me for long but--"

"Too much information," yelped Ginny, holding up her hand.

Luna swatted at the air. "Wrackspurt. Must've flown in through the window."

Hermione swallowed her laughter and firmly re-summoned her righteous indignation. "Ginny, you can tell Harry that he's still got me to contend with. I warned him his life wouldn't be worth much if he ever sent Ron home in that condition again."

A roll of Ginny's eyes was Hermione's only answer. Both Harry and Ron routinely claimed that the other had instigated their more mischievous exploits. When confronted together, "innocent" fingers pointed to George or even Neville. Hermione sighed and pursed her lips in disapproval. "I hate their lads' nights. Not only did Ron come home completely pissed, but guess who was up with the birds and Disapparating before I even woke up?"

Apparently this was a rhetorical question, because Hermione tossed her hair and continued without even drawing a breath. "Your darling brother, that's who. The one who can usually be counted upon to awaken just in time for lunch. That was no coincidence. And now, _this_, of course." She jerked her head towards the box of lilacs. "Honestly, he's so transparent."

"Not transparent really," mused Luna, having apparently vanquished the wrackspurt. "Invisible, maybe, if he borrowed Harry's cloak. Pale, certainly, but definitely opaque. Or did you jinx him somehow?"

"Not yet, Luna. But thanks for the brilliant idea. I think it might get his attention if a few of his bits were to disappear for a day or two. Ginny, about the boys…"

"Oh, don't worry. They'll be snug in their poncy little box seats long before the snitch flies. Ron'll know that hex as Mum's straight off. I fire-called her this morning so she's expecting him. He'll get what he's after." Ginny smiled wickedly. "Just not before Mum's had her fun."

"Remind me never to cross you," Hermione grinned, reaching for the box of flowers. "You realize what he's about, don't you? He's hoping I'll forget all about last night. And he thinks these flowers are just the thing to put me flat on my back with my legs in the air for the rest of the weekend!"

Ginny snorted, but Luna was perplexed. "Can't you just use a _vase_?"

Ginny and Hermione looked momentarily Confunded, but as Luna's absurd visual settled upon them, they collapsed into fits of laughter. Ron said Luna was always good value and Hermione had never agreed more. "No dear," Hermione said gently, "what I meant to imply was..."

Ginny rushed to interrupt her. "A vase would be good enough for _everyday_, Luna, but Ron meant these flowers as _special_." Ginny scowled at Hermione, though her eyes were sparkling. "Shhh! Why spoil it for Rolf?"

Luna fingered the lilacs with renewed interest, her murmurs barely discernible. "...nargles...rash..."

Hermione looked disapproving but Ginny quickly diverted her attention. "So, what's the Strat Ex have to say for himself this time?" She leaned forward with interest.

Hermione took a deep breath and slowly reached for the folded parchment that Ron had tucked among the blooms. He'd delivered his masterstroke in an untidy scrawl.

_Morning Mrs Weasley,_

_I left early to deliver some donations I've been collecting for the Dobby Center. I almost didn't make it out the door, though -- you looked like that Muggle fairy you told Harry and me about -- Sleeping Beautiful?_

_P.S. I'll be home right after the Finals - sober as Azkaban. (Sorry, luv. I was bang out of order...)_

_P.S.S. Tell Ginny and Luna I said hello._

_P.S.S.S. Did I mention I don't deserve you?_

Hermione buried her face in the lilacs to hide her enormous smile. _Oh, well played, Ron_. He would find a warm and welcoming witch in his bed tonight, precisely according to his plan.

Her witch's intuition made Hermione reach for her wand. "_Aparecium_." Before his final flourish even reappeared, she knew what it would read.

_C H E C K M A T E _

_Merlin, I love that man... _

Ginny took one look at Hermione's happily flushed face and rolled her eyes. "Oh for Peeves' sake, Hermione! You're going to let the big prat just charm his way right out of it, aren't you? Again!"

"Don't be so hard on him, Ginny. You know he means well. He's just celebrating his Chocolate Frog card and--"

"He's celebrated three times this week! You know that I specifically warned him not to get Harry pissed again, right?"

Hermione held up her hand. "Ginny, I know what you're going to say but--"

"Oh you do, do you?" Ginny leaned forward and smiled with wicked intent.

"You know he calls you _Hermajesty_ behind your back, right?"

_**"He What?"**_


	3. SWORD OF GRYFFINDOR

**Strategist Extraordinaire**

**Chapter Three: Sword of Gryffindor**

Ron opened one eye so that he could watch his wife dress for work. It was a sight for sore eyes. Although his trip from their bedroom to the sofa had transpired with startling rapidity and under threat of feathered escort, it had taken him three full weeks to negotiate his return trip back.

It had taken two full days just to learn what he had done wrong. In the end, it was Harry who had sheepishly told him. "Er, well, um, sorry mate, but it's possible I might have mentioned something about the 'Hermajesty' thing to Ginny..."

_Shite! I'm a dead man._

It had taken eight long days just to get Hermione to speak to him again.

"**Hermajesty**! Is that what you think of me? How you talk about me behind my back? You ARSE! You immature, inconsiderate, insensitive, indiscreet, insulting, disrespectful, heartbreaking, back-stabbing, bad joke making, think you're so funny, sarcastic, smart-mouthed, self-satisfied, smug little, sneaky little, good for nothing, Quaffle dropping, disloyal, ungrateful, two-faced, name calling, heartbreaking, extraordinarily ORDINARY, freckle faced ARSE!"

At some point during Hermione's diatribe, Ron's jaw had firmly set. "I haven't dropped a Quaffle in TWO YEARS! And you said 'heartbreaking' twice, by the way."

Hermione was so infuriated she was practically vibrating. She stamped her foot as her wand sliced the air. _"O P P U G N O !"_

"Oi! Call them off! CALL THEM OFF! Damn it, Hermione, can't you ever try something new for a change?" Ron lifted his face from his arms, leaving it unprotected just long enough to roar at her. "At least keep things _interesting, _for Merlin's sake!"

The touch of her wand to his crotch stopped him cold.

It had taken twelve painful days for the peck marks on his face and arms to fade into the freckles.

He had endured three howlers from his mum, six mocking victory signs from Ginny, thirty-seven helpless and penitent shrugs from Harry and two hundred and ninety-nine contemptuous glares from Hermione.

He had had three long weeks to grow accustomed to the view up his bride's pretty little nostrils as she alternatively flounced about, sniffed haughtily and studiously ignored him.

He had had three long weeks in which to plot his revenge. _Paybacks are hell, Ginny. And I'm taking Harry down with you._

He had had three long celibate weeks in which to win back his wife.

It had taken eighty-seven apologies and twenty-two promises. Thirty-six excuses and twelve cautiously made jokes. One hundred and forty admiring glances and seventeen pairs of puppy-dog eyes. Two weekends volunteering at the Dobby Center, eight hours pushing the Muggle lawn mower and an even dozen roses in a sparkling crystal vase.

But in the end, it had been -- so simple. He'd been rifling through the bottom of the closet for a jumper when he'd found them.

_Of course! My magic jeans. Let me just lay down so I can get them zipped. Lose the shirt. Run some water through my hair. Do a few chin ups right here in this doorway. Couple of crunches over there on the floor. Stretch my legs out on the sofa. Undo my fly just enough to expand the viewing area. Scratch an itch in this little trail of hair that leads right down to my… AH HA! Caught her looking. How did I not think of this sooner? Strategist Extraordinaire, you suck. Now, shake the fringe down over my eyes. Square the shoulders. Pull in the gut. Try to catch her eye...YES! Now do not blink do not blink do not blink. Just another ripple of the abs and…_

_Checkmate!_

It had taken three weeks, twenty-seven minutes and one shamelessly flaunted six pack before, blushing furiously, Hermione had wordlessly taken him by the hand and led him back to their bedroom.

It had taken an additional forty-five increasingly awkward minutes to overcome his pride and just say it.

"Hermione, in order to do the job properly, I'll be needing my bollocks back."

Hermione claimed she had no recollection whatsoever of stabbing her wand into his crotch and whispering "_Evanesco_" in a voice so cold and sinister that it had sent chills down his spine. Not to mention that it had sent his bobbly bits to…well...he could only hope they were some place safe. Hermione's giggled apology sounded a wee insincere and Ron had briefly doubted the wisdom of allowing her to turn her wand on him again, but she had quickly and painlessly restored him to his former glory. Ron and the boys could not have been happier to be reunited. And the great sword of Gryffindor was downright ecstatic.

"C'Mere Wife."


	4. KILLING CROOKSHANKS

**Strategist Extraordinaire**

**Chapter Four: Killing Crookshanks**

And so it was that Ron now lay with one eye open, watching as his wife put the final touches on her make up. Crookshanks sat at her elbow, occasionally nudging her forearm. Hermione rewarded him each time with an affectionate scratch behind his ears. No one knew Crookshanks' precise age, but other than McGonagall's most recent transformations, Crookshanks was the oldest, grumpiest cat in memory. Although Ron would have denied it, he had secretly been feeding Crookshanks vitamins and rejuvi-potions for several years, hoping to assure his longevity. His jealousy of the cat, only half in jest, had been a steady source of Hermione's amusement for over a decade.

Years ago, Ron and Crookshanks had been like enemy satellites orbiting the same planet, but their mutual love for Hermione had ultimately resulted in the affectionately grudging public détente they now observed. In Hermione's presence, that is. What went on between them in private was an entirely different matter. Crookshanks had a habit of emanating a certain animosity towards Ron whenever Hermione wasn't looking, and a result, Ron frequently made joking threats at Crookshanks' expense.

Snuggling down into the mattress, Ron feigned sleep. He was hoping to enjoy a bit of a lie-in after Hermione left for work. Or perhaps even better. As Hermione approached the bed, Ron carefully repositioned the sheet and burrowed into the mattress. "Love you," he murmured, trying to look as if he'd just woken up and hoping that he looked fetching.

"Wouldn't want you to get cold, Ron," Hermione smiled as she pulled the sheet back up over his bare bum. "You can't afford the _shrinkage_."

_Ouch! Talk about cold_, Ron thought grumpily.

Hermione tucked Crookshanks into the nook behind Ron's knees. "Okay boys, you two keep each other warm," she said, dropping a kiss on Ron's shoulder. A few moments later, he heard her take the Floo.

As soon as Hermione left the house, Crookshanks dropped all pretense of civility. Ron's blood ran cold when he heard the ominous low "Raaaaaawwwwrrrr" from just behind his insufficiently protected bum. Not for the first time, he felt Crookshanks' incisors penetrate the skin of his arse.

"Gerooofff me you wanker!" Ron yelped, thrashing about and hoping to unseat Crookshanks by whipping the sheet out from under him. Ron did not anticipate the full effect of his movement and he was surprised when the sheet formed a catapult of sorts, launching Crookshanks forcefully off of the bed and through the air at high velocity.

"Mraaaawrrrrrrrr!" Crookshanks protested, mid-flight. "Mra…" Crookshanks hit the wall with a heavy thud. He plummeted limp-legged to the floor, where he lay motionless.

Ron, taken by surprise, was now sitting on his knees in the bed with the sheet pulled up to his chin. His heart was thudding rapidly. "Uh…Crookshanks? Cat? Crookshanks?" Ron had sworn the next words would never cross his lips. "Heeeeere kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty."

Crookshanks remained prone on the floor, not dignifying this with a response. Although the ancient cat had been momentarily stunned, he had returned to his senses just in time to hear the ginger-haired interloper doing the ridiculous "kitty kitty" routine. Crookshanks had immediately opted for complete and utter stillness. _This could be fun._

"Bloody hell! I've killed him! I've killed her cat! Bloody hell." Ron quickly pulled on his jeans and began pacing about the room, keeping a wide berth from the fallen feline. "She'll kill me. She'll kill me! She'll think I did it on purpose!"

Ron was quickly becoming frantic. He summoned enough courage to stand over Crookshanks and prod him gently with a toe. Dead weight. "Shite! Shite Shite Shite!" Ron flung himself down on the bed, head in his hands.

Crookshanks was so delighted with the proceedings that it was a struggle for him not to purr. _Playing dead is my new favorite game._

_Let me think. Let me think._ Ron struggled to formulate a plan. "Medi-Vet!" He remembered seeing a 24 hour Emergi-Medi-Vet just down the street from St. Mungo's. Flinging himself down in front of the Floo, he frantically fire-called the Medi-Vet. As Ron's head erupted from the ash, a young Medi-vet wearing white robes was just pulling a grate down over the clinic's hearth. "Sorry, we're closed."

"But the sign says 'Open 24 hours!'" Ron wailed.

"Well, not in a _row_," scowled the Medi-vet, slamming the grate in Ron's face.

_Need to call Harry. Need to get help. Need to call Harry. Need to get help._ Ron repositioned his head in the Floo, mentally changing his trajectory. "Harry! Get over here. Now!"

"Can't right now, mate. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? I think I've killed Crookshanks, that's what's wrong! Threw him against the wall. Didn't mean to, you understand, but Hermione thinks I've always wanted to. Said so often enough. And now she'll think I went and did it. _On purpose_! Murder me Harry. Murder me quick. She can have a double burial."

"Ron, listen to me. You've got to calm down. You've got to come up with a plan."

"Plan, yeah, that's right. A plan. How 'bout I plan to move to Siberia before Hermione figures out I killed Crookshanks? How 'bout I plan to just pack my stuff and check in to Azkaban? That'll be more laughs than living with her after what I've done."

_Suits me_, thought Crookshanks. _Let me get your bag_. He was enjoying the interloper's distress immensely. Although it was increasingly hard to conceal his glee, Crookshanks had twitched not so much as his tail.

"Ron, that's not helping. A plan, Ron. Make a plan. Strategist Extraordinaire, right? First, you have to make sure Crookshanks is really dead. Can you do that, Ron? Ron! Can you do that?"

"I think so, yeah." Ron pulled his head out of the Floo and approached the cat. He was trembling from head to toe and he was so distraught that he couldn't think properly.

Crookshanks lay as still as he could, scarcely daring to breath. The cat had quickly formulated a plan of his own. _I'll wait until the very last minute and come up hissing and scratching. This is too purrrrfect_. _Oops. Hope he didn't hear that._

Harry's voice from the Floo was an order. "Ron! Make sure Crookshanks is dead."

Ron didn't hesitate. "_Avada Kedavra._"

Crookshanks' eyes flew open. For an instant, shocked yellow eyes met equally shocked blue ones over a deadly green light. For once, Ron and Crookshanks were in complete accord. _SHITE!_

"What was that?" Harry's face in the Floo was ashen; his glasses were askew. "Ron, what have you done? Tell me you did NOT just AK Crookshanks."

Ron was frozen on the spot. His voice climbed to a new octave. "You said make sure he was dead. So I did. _Made sure he was dead_." His high pitched wail trailed off into wordless whimpers. Had Harry not recognized the sound, he would have thought his best friend had been overtaken by a fit of girlish giggles.

Harry spoke slowly, as if to a first year. "Ron, I meant for you to check the cat to make sure that he was actually dead, not just injured or unconscious or something."

"SHOULD'VE SAID SO, THEN! Now I've gone and done it! Killed Crookshanks! AK'd him right in the middle of the damn bedroom! She'll kill me. She'll kill me! First it'll be the birds, then she'll bloody kill me! And she'll never forgive me. Not for this. Harry, what do I do?"

Harry had always liked Crookshanks but he was finding it hard not to laugh at his friend's predicament. "Nothing for it, mate. You'll just have to tell her it was an accident. It's not like she won't notice that he's not, er…feeling fit."

Ron had thrown himself down on the bed, head once again in hands. _Let me think. Let me think._ Taking several deep breaths and determinedly calming his trembling, Ron assessed his situation. When at last he raised his head, the sadness and guilt in his eyes had been joined by resolve. Harry was right. There was nothing else for it. Ron stood up slowly and dropped the sheet over Crookshanks' body. _I'm really sorry, Crooks. I swear I didn't mean to._

Ron took a deep, steadying breath before whirling around and drawing his wand on Harry, whose bodiless head still poked from the Floo, defenseless. "Best not to have witnesses, Harry." Harry's jaw barely had time to drop before the flick of Ron's wand. "_Obliviate_."

Ron quickly stowed his wand and, without missing a beat, scowled at Harry. "Well that's right pervy, don't you think?"

Harry was quite startled to find himself peering into Ron and Hermione's bedroom. "No, Ron, really, I…"

"Just limit yourself to the one in the parlor from now on, alright? What do you want, anyway?"

Harry's brow was furrowed. He felt a headache coming on. "Uh, I don't, uh, remember, really, I uh…" Harry's head disappeared in a puff of ash.

Hours later, Hermione came home to find Ron sitting in the dark, head in hands. She rushed to his side.

"Ron, what's wrong?"

"Crookshanks died."

"What?" Hermione sank to the sofa, her face crumpling in tears. "But he was fine this morning. Where is he? What happened?"

Ron couldn't lie but he couldn't tell all, either. "When I got out of bed he was lying on the floor. Like he was sleeping except he wouldn't wake up." Tears slid over his freckles. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

As was often the case, Hermione coped with unwanted emotion by turning it into anger.

"Ronald Weasley, how could you?"

_Merlin, she knows! How the bloody hell does she know?_

"Hermione, I swear I didn't mean…"

"You can be so insensitive! You don't just blurt out and tell someone their cat died. It's too shocking! You've got to build up to bad news like that. Break it to a person gently."

"Huh?"

"You don't just tell someone 'Your cat died.' It's far too blunt. You've got to give them some sort of preamble. To lessen the blow, for Merlin's sake."

"Preamble?"

Hermione mopped her tears with her sleeve, glaring at Ron all the while. "Preamble, Ron. To give the news time to sink in. You say something like 'Hermione, Crookshanks crawled out on the roof.' Then you go on to say that he was sitting happily in the sunshine, that he was chasing birds or something, that he was having the time of his life when he took a misstep, fell to the ground and, despite every effort on your part, he expired. And that he never knew. He never knew what hit him."

"But he wasn't ever even on the roof." _And I'm fairly certain he knew what hit him._

"Ron, you've missed the point entirely." Hermione stood up in a huff and marched off to their bedroom, where Ron knew she would cry herself to sleep. At least the worst was over. Or so he thought.

Hermione remained so distraught that Ron asked her mum to come and stay with her the next day. As luck would have it, Hermione was called to the Ministry unexpectedly and Ron ended up spending the afternoon alone with Mum Granger. She made herself busy in the kitchen while Ron lounged on the sofa watching televised quidditch. Broadcasting a magical channel on the Muggle telly was George's best idea yet.

As the sun began to go down, Ron realized he hadn't heard anything out of Mum Granger for several hours. He went to the kitchen to check on her. It was not good. Mum Granger was laid out motionless on the kitchen floor, body horribly contorted, eyes glassy.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron was racing towards the fireplace to fire-call Harry when Hermione stepped out onto the hearth.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his nose before burying herself in his arms. "Ron, I've missed you. How was your day?"

Though his mind was racing, the Strategist Extraordinaire drew a calming breath.

"Hermione, your mum crawled out on the roof."

A/N: Not to worry, Friends. I have it on good authority that Mum Granger was just practicing her Pilates and that Crookshanks is sporting a lightning bolt scar on his forehead (nine lives and all).


	5. SPANKING GINNY

**Strategist Extraordinaire**

**Chapter Five: Spanking Ginny**

_Finally. Finally lads' night_.

The month had passed in happy harmony. Ron's days had mostly been spent helping George at the jokeshop, raising funds for the Dobby Center and playing Quidditch with Harry, which he justified as "getting in shape for Aurors." The nights had drifted congenially away. There had been romantic evenings spent exploring Muggle London and Wednesday night Snap at Gin and Harry's. Hermione had developed ingenious rules for a "Couples" Wizard Chess tournament and the first rule was that every couple had to bring a different take away each week. Every Friday night, Harry and Ginny, Rolf and Luna, George and Angelina and Ron and Hermione could all be found sitting cross-legged on the floor, passing cartons between them and laughing hysterically as the game progressed. Weekends were spent happily shuttling between the Granger's and The Burrow. It had been one of the most idyllic times of Ron's life. But he had secretly been itching for lads' night.

_Payback time. _

Ron was practically vibrating with excitement. To his immense satisfaction, Harry already showed all the signs of being completely pissed. Ron prided himself on holding his Ogden's better than his friends, and he was only slightly drunk. He was working, after all, and he knew he would need his wits about him to manage the upcoming choreography.

Ron had already carefully baited his hook and planted it firmly in Harry's ever slackening jaw. The only thing left was to gently reel him in. Ron grimaced as Harry leaned forward and breathed Firewhisky into his face.

"You'sh tak'n erm mickey."

Ron laughed. "I'm not taking the mickey, Harry. Apparently some girls really get into it. Something to do with authority figures, I think. Anyway, 'Twelve Fail-Safe Ways' says doing weird stuff like that keeps them from getting bored." Ron dropped his voice conspiratorially. "You know…in the bedroom." He pretended to lose interest in the topic and scanned the room. "Hey, Dean seemed good, didn't he? Looks like he's been working out, too."

"Dean?" Harry's eyebrows knit together. "When'd'yousheesh Dean? Thought he'sh travlin."

"Well, he must've snuck back for a few days. I saw him having lunch with Ginny at that fancy new place in Diagon Alley. Didn't she mention it?" Ron shifted as if he was suddenly uncomfortable. _Nice touch._

"Nosheessh dinnot." Harry glared grumpily and weaved on the spot. "Goin' home now."

_Too easy. It's a right wonder Voldemort didn't get him_.

Ron gave Harry a two minute head start before following him home. He stepped out of the Floo just in time to watch his friend emphatically kick over the sofa table before lurching clumsily up the stairs. Harry reached out and pushed over a floor lamp as he climbed. Ron held his breath. _Go on, Harry. Say it._

"C'Mere Wife!"

Ron's fist pumped the air. _Yes!_

Ron had recently spent a good deal of time brushing up on his Shield Charms, practicing Portable Shields, Familial Shields, Shields for all occasions. Hermione had been delighted by his sudden bookishness and assumed he was getting a jump on Auror training, but the Aurors were actually far from Ron's mind as his rapidly cast charms followed Harry up the stairs. Fun was fun, but he wasn't going to risk anyone actually getting hurt.

The sounds now emanating from behind the bedroom door were music to his ears, and Ron quickly fire-called each of his brothers in turn.

"Come quick! Harry's gone mental!"

In under a minute, five Weasley brothers were thundering up the stairs to the sound of their baby sister's blood curdling screams. They had instinctively ordered themselves by age with Ron bringing up the rear. Bill burst into Harry and Ginny's bedroom, his brothers piling in behind him. Five wands were held at the ready. The sight that confronted them astounded everyone except Ron, although admittedly, it was better than he had even dared to dream.

Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed with Ginny thrown across his lap. He was wearing only his Y-fronts. Ginny's T-shirt was bunched up around her stomach, the words "I Thought He'd Be Taller" clearly legible across its back. But alas, no one was reading, because Ginny's pajama bottoms were pulled down around her thighs, exposing her freckled pink bottom for all the world to see. The center of each cheek bore the rapidly reddening imprint of Harry's palm. Ginny was kicking and cursing and bellowing up a storm, and had she not apparently been the victim of a Leg-Locker, Harry would never have been able to hold her down. _Nice work, Harry! _Everyone could tell that Ginny was not amused. Everyone, it seemed, except Harry.

Harry's hand had frozen in mid-air above Ginny's bare bum. Before him stood over five hundred kilos of Weasley. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Ginny's brothers spanned almost four and a half meters. It was a sobering sight and the effects of the Firewhisky in Harry's bloodstream seemed to instantaneously evaporate. Harry had never looked so scared in his life. And with good cause. Even if he survived her brothers, there would still be Ginny to contend with.

Harry's shock caused his Leg-Locker to dissipate and Ginny leapt from his lap, hastily yanking up her pajamas. Grabbing for her wand and training it on Harry, she blushed furiously as she glanced at her brothers. One look at their faces told her that Harry had never been in more danger. The veins stood out against the scars on Bill's face and his eyes had taken on a wolfish glow. Ginny stole a quick glance out the window to check the status of the moon. Charlie, who looked even more enormous than usual, was literally breathing fire. Percy had discarded his wand and was inexplicably holding his fists before him like some crazed pinstriped pugilist, poised to fly right out of his loafers. George was most definitely not laughing. And at the end of the angry row, Ron's eyes glittered maniacally.

_Well well well. Little Ginny's gone and got herself a tattoo. Mum's going to be so proud._

Ginny quickly shifted her weight, moving her wand back and forth between Harry and her brothers. Harry was still too shocked to react. When George yelled "_Incarcerous_" it was Ginny who protected Harry with a Shield Charm. The ropes coiled harmlessly at Harry's feet. "_Duro_," bellowed Bill. Ron couldn't tell if Bill's spellwork was deflected off of Ginny's rapidly cast Shield or one of his own, but it ricocheted into a corner and turned an unsuspecting houseplant into stone.

Percy apparently wasn't of a mind for magic. He scuttled forward on the balls of his feet and, after a few cautious bobs and weaves, he landed a right uppercut on Harry's chin. Harry's head snapped back and Ron winced. He hadn't anticipated Muggle tactics. _Sorry, mate. Didn't see that one coming. _Ronlooked at Percy with newfound appreciation.

"No! He's mine!" It was impossible to tell if Ginny meant to protect Harry from the wrath of her brothers or to lay personal claim to his punishment. Even she wasn't entirely certain. "What on earth are you all doing here?" she snapped. Holding up a hand to her brothers, she swung around to face her husband. "Have you gone MENTAL? What's got into you?"

Harry's eyes were enormous behind his glasses, which had been knocked slightly askew by Percy's punch. His scar stood out in bold relief. He was holding his spanking hand stiffly away from his body as if he didn't want to be associated with it. Standing there trembling in his Y-fronts, Harry never once took his eyes off of Ginny's brothers as he stammered out his answer. "He … he … he said … I thought … the book … you were … HE SAID YOU'D LIKE IT!"

"Who said?"

Harry pointed a finger. "He said."

Bill, Charlie, Percy and George simultaneously took a step away from their baby brother. Ickle Ronniekins was on his own. Ginny's eyes slowly followed Harry's finger. Her voice chilled the air and made leaves fall from the tree outside the bedroom window.

"You."


	6. SMOOTH MOVES

**Strategist Extraordinaire**

**Chapter Six: Smooth Moves**

Two evenings later, Ron and Hermione lay in bed. Hermione was giggling helplessly at Ron's animated description of his lads' night. "I just can't believe that after an entire month of planning, you forgot to cast your own Shield."

"What can I say? I was excited. Now promise you won't laugh." Ron blushed furiously as Hermione pulled back the sheet and surveyed the perfectly smooth landscape that had once been the family jewels.

Hermione bit her lip, eyes sparkling. "Honestly, Ron, you rather had it coming."

"They started it. Harry was talking out of school and Ginny intentionally set me up. You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am on your side, but this time you really took things too far. It's fortunate you're the only one who got hurt." She lay back against the pillow and tried to reassure him. "If we found the Horcruxes, Ron, I'm certain we'll be able to find these. After all, there are only three of them, and at least we know what to look for this time. I doubt Harry'll be much help, though. He's still pretty chuffed. He's got an _enormous_ bruise on his jaw and he _despises_ sleeping in the bath. Not to mention that George refuses to be talked out of the new tee idea. You've really got to talk some sense into him, Ron. At least get him to leave off the tattoo."

They were silent for a long moment before Hermione spoke again, gently.

"Ron, I sometimes worry that you're trying too hard to live up to that card."

"What d'you mean?"

"Just that you don't always have to be planning something or trying so hard to prove that you're clever. We already know that you're clever. The whole wizarding world knows it, thanks to that card. But you always seem to have it your pocket or else you're sitting around staring at it. You should really just ease off of the whole Strategist Extraordinaire thing. Give it a rest. It'll be good when training starts and you don't have so much time on your hands. Not to mention that George is having a terribly naughty influence on you. If the Aurors knew even half of what you've been up to they'd never have you." Hermione softened this by slipping her hand reassuringly into his, and her next words were very gentle. "You'll never fill that void, you know."

Ron said nothing for a long while, but Hermione could hear him swallowing hard. She wondered if he was sulking or perhaps even crying and she got her answer when he managed to choke out his reply. "I can help him fill the time, though."

Sighing heavily, Ron determinedly regained his composure. "It's just that I'm accustomed to a pretty high intensity environment, Hermione. What with growing up at The Burrow, Hogwarts with you and Harry, the Hunt and everything after… I just don't want our lives to be boring. You know, anti-climactic. Anyway, Harry and Ginny know it's all in good fun. It's just what we do. Besides, Hermione, I know you. You _think_ you like always being the cleverest person in the room, but you _really_ only get interested when maybe you're _not_. It's hard work keeping a witch like you interested in a simple bloke like me." Ron's voice held just a tinge of bitterness when he quoted her. " 'Extraordinarily ordinary,' you said."

Hermione buried her face in his shoulder. "I said sorry for that speech. A hundred times sorry. I know I was ghastly, but it was just my pride talking. You're not any of that awful stuff I said." Hermione lay back against her pillow and was quiet for another long while. "That thing you said about me - that I only _think_ I like being the most clever one in the room… You really are an incredibly perceptive man, Ron."

The smile was back in his voice. "Always the…" Hermione immediately joined in, "tone of surprise." He pulled her close. "You've really got it wrong about the card, though, Hermione."

"Tell me."

"Well, don't get me wrong. I like it and all. Not going to lie about that. It's just that they missed the whole point, didn't they? The card's all about the troll and the Wizard Chess, the locket and the fangs. Stuff that was all just improvising, really. Not much strategy to it, you know that. But they don't even mention the important stuff. The stuff I really _did_ plan. They just got it wrong, is all."

"I'm still not sure I understand, Ron."

Ron hung over the edge of the bed and fished around in his jeans, finally pulling out his grubby Chocolate Frog Card. He passed it to Hermione.

"Promise you won't laugh."

"I'm not laughing, Ron."

"_Aparecium_."

As the ink rematerialized, Hermione could see that Ron had scratched out the numbers that were printed beside each of his accomplishments. He had renumbered them and inserted his own lines.

1. Ron Weasley married Hermione Granger

* * *

2.

* * *

Tears sprang to her eyes. She pressed her lips hard against his.

"Merlin, I love you, Ron. What's the second line for? The one that's still blank?"

"It's going to say that I fathered the most clever Weasleys the world has ever known, thanks to you. If we can find my equipment, that is."

Hermione kissed him again, longer this time, and he rolled her onto her back. Instinct took over and he ground his hips against hers. They were both startled as their two smooth mounds slid uneventfully past each other. Something was definitely lacking. Ron quickly moved off of her and stared moodily at the ceiling. After a long while, Hermione sighed and then spoke matter-of-factly.

"I'll get the beaded bag."

"I'll get the tent. But first let's make love. We don't know when we'll have a comfortable bed again."

"But…"

"Shhh. I don't need them for everything, Hermajesty."

Hermione blushed to her roots. In a moment her voice drifted down, an afterthought. "Did you just call me Hermajesty?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Oh ... well ... " She squirmed and he held her hips more firmly. "You know … _ahhhhh _… in proper context … _mmmm _… that actually has … _yes_ … a rather nice … _gasp_ … ring to it ... RON ! "

_C H E C K M A T E ._


End file.
